h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

So I see...
I got a little tired of it when it made all the conversations I was in look like a graveyard - a little morbid. So I put them instead of the "t". Much better - I'll have to do that again sometime.

You can't really spell "Joanna" with a "t", can you?

Might be a little difficult.

5 minutes 'til St. Patrick's day reaches teh Irish shores just enough time for 2 please.

*pours 2 *

Here you go.

Happy St. Patrick's day from the Emerald Isle everybody, 24 hours of debauched drinking lies ahead I'm not sure if i'll be on much later on today, or how much sence I might make if I do.

Well, I'm not sure how much sense you make at the best of times, my friend, but I'm happy you're happy.

Menza, give him a drink from me.

Top o' the early mornin' to you all!
Menz, I'm looking for something that might help to cure the horrid 'flu with which I am presently afflicted.
The Fuel kills brain cells - does it also kill germs?

I believe that the dreaded "Health Warning" kills all known germs - but as it kills everything else too, it may not help.

Well peeps - this'll make you proud.

I've been on nights all week, and when I finish in the morning it'll be straight down the pub for an all day sesh. Who needs sleep?

I'm meant to have a rendez-vous in Leicester Sq around eight, but I think I might have to callit a day around then. If I stay out any later I might fall asleep on the last train and wake up on the other side of the country.

And Menza, what's so funny about a B*Witched sandwich? I'll be wishing them a very happy Padd's day in about seven or eight hours - who knows how gratefuyl they'll be if I find some Guinness? Twins, mate, eh?

What? Me not make *sense*? Must be the BB talking.

*Turns to bottle sitting beside keyboard*

Will you stop typing it's my turn.

Thanks for the tip. BB. I'll have a of green Drumroll then, and a Jameson's Irish Whiskey chaser. Just to get in the St Patrick's Day spirit, you understand.

Ormy, old chap - I partook of the Health Warning and lived - and I've been in quite rude health too. But brace yourself for the first few sips.

Another brace of I've got the BB here so don't need the chaser's you understand.

I've had Health Warning before too, Zeb, and ended up in virtual hospital. On reflection, I think I'll stick with the conventional stuff. I mean, with due respect to St Pat's Day, I don't actually want to turn green myself for the occasion.

Me neither keep it BLACK and keep it flowing.

I hope you're managing to draw little shamrocks in the heads on those s, Menz.

There have been on mine reminds me of the Ozzie barmaid who always used to serve mine that way in central London, after I finished work at Picadilly Circus.

My first shamrock attempt looked my like a fish. Or a dog. No-one could quite decide.

Happy Saint Patrick's day from a half-Irishman in Hong Kong!

Every good Irish bar should have a drunken story-teller.

Today, should, you have called into any bar with the faintest scent of Irishness to it, you would have realised something was afoot.

For tis' not a normal ting to imbibe upon a lager of greenish hue. And tis's far from normal to hear Paddy McGinty's Goat being played ... at any time.

Some of you may have asked some of the peasants within why everyone was drinking what appeared to be tar, and you'd have noticed the green cardboard clovers and faded tourism posters of Dublin stapled hastily over the walls.

You'd have been told it was St Patrick's Day.

Now den ... if you're a complete eejit (not realising it was St Paddy's annual moment only makes you a partial eejit) den you'd have asked who St Patrick was.

To qualify for a degree in utter buffoonery at the University of Dublin you'd have asked what he was famous for, pointing out that it must have been something truly wondrous as they bypassed a knighthood in favour of sainthood.

I daresay that until told, there will be some out there who firmly believe that St Patrick was the founding father of Irish stout and almost certainly had some involvement in the development of Guinness - because it appears the two go hand- in-hand.

Yes, there will be those once-a-year drinkers of that famous black beer who will loudly, and unsteady of voice, declare that m "St Paddy" was the patron saint of the golden-harped stout.

After five or six pints they'll put the house on it.

St Patrick's Day is that peculiar day of the year when it seems people who ordinarily never tipple early in the day decide that "seeing as it's St Patrick’s Day it's okay."

They'll be singing loudly by 9.30am, unwittingly illustrating that St Patrick could well be the patron saint of having a pint when you normally would not.

And you will get people who decide that because their great great-grandfather knew a bloke who came from Derry, or because A, they got the Riverdance video for Christmas and once saw Mike Gibson score against the All Blacks, they qualify for Irish citizenship ... for the day.

On go the green shirts and undies; non-stout imbibers will emerge from lagerland and down a Guinness or two because it's St Patrick's Day.

And good on them ... for ‘tis a fine ting to celebrate that wonderful Englishman who became a saint.

Aha! Some of you part-time Oirish will declare with relish ... he doesn't know the geographical difference between Belfast and Brighton.

But oi do, oi do.

Wipe that arc of creaming froth from that upper lip, put down that autographed picture of Val Doonican and listen up.

Patrick was born in the fourth century, the son of a magistrate in England, but at the age of 16 had the misfortune to be carried off by pagan Irish traders…. as you do. They dragged him off to a scruffy, primitive Ireland and introduced him to a life of slavery ... although he ended up tending sheep in the emerald green countryside, so that wasn't so bad.

‘Twas the making of the lad though - for his plight was such that he contemplated God and spirituality. Shepherds tend to do a lot of sky-watching and are susceptible to becoming overwhelmed by sunsets and clouds.

Seven years after being dragged from Blighty, he had a dream about returning home aboard a boat, which would arrive at the seashore. The dream came true and he ended up back in England, although his dream about winning a major lottery was never fulfilled.

Let's cut to the chase now because this is eating into my drinking time. He went back, got persecuted by the druids for spreading the gospel, but got in the ear of local kings and eventually converted the peasants to Christianity. Oh, and he also drove the snakes out of Ireland (he chased them into the ocean apparently).

And what's the significance of the shamrock? Well St Paddy plucked one from the ground one day to show a group of doubters the story of the Holy Trinity. It had three leaves.

"Living proof," he said.

And of course it's green. Say no more.

No word however of St Patrick coming across a well gushing foaming black liquid a pint at a time.

So why is today, March 17, the appropriate day to celebrate St Patrick and his works?

Because the people of Ireland said so.

And if it's good enough for them it's good enough for their descendants like me. In fact, it appears to be good enough for anybody. Slainte!